Operation: Rider
by NZcalling
Summary: Alex Rider is a myth, an urban legend among intelligence agencies, someone MI6 won't admit ever existed. Neal has been running from his past far longer than anyone knows. Peter knows there's still something Neal's not telling him, but what? Everything we know about Neal's story is a lie. His past, his present, and most definitely his name.


This fic takes place at the end of 'Countdown' (S03E11) of White Collar and after Scorpia Rising of the Alex Rider series – obviously it is AU after these points. I haven't read/watched either series especially recently, so do let me know if I make any continuity mistakes.

In essence, this is a teaser to see if this would be anything people were interested in seeing more of. Reviews would be much appreciated =)

* * *

After everything he had ever been through, it was frankly depressing to think that the end would come at the hands a lowlife like Matthew Keller.

He could hear his footsteps through the pounding in his head; in hindsight it had been foolish to think he would respect even the sanctity of a Raphael when it was his own skin on the line. But if there was one thing Keller valued more than the millions the painting could have brought him, it was himself. Neal had miscalculated. He had miscalculated a lot over the past months, every day since the windfall of the U-boat had fallen into his lap and he should have known it could only end like this.

That was where he and Keller differed; Neal valued the chase, the intrigue and the glory too much, even when the price was his life. When all he could do was lie against the cold concrete and wait for the final blow to fall, a small part of him admitted that maybe Keller had the better priorities.

"First rule of a fight: always go for the weak spot." He sneered, and Neal groaned against the ground. Never mind depressing: having Keller think he could educate him on the rules of combat was humiliation at its finest_._ The sharp impact and blackness that followed was almost a relief.

When he came to, Peter was there. Of course he was. Peter was always the one to get him out of the trouble he put himself in and all Neal ever did in return was lie.

Then Keller picked up a knife and even through the haze of threatening unconsciousness it was enough to snap Neal out of self-recrimination. He scrambled forward, ignoring the way his vision warped and blurred at the edges as he picked up the gun, pointing it at the struggling men and holding onto consciousness through sheer determination. It wasn't a difficult shot – well, not when you considered the kind of training he had gone through in another time, another life. SCORPIA only trained the best after all. He wasn't shooting the only person at MI6 who had ever shown the slightest kindness to him. He wasn't holding a gun on a mad, twisted version of himself. No, this shot involved Peter and was a thousand times worse.

He fired. Keller collapsed. Out of pure relief, so did Neal.

Later, when Peter asked him how he made that shot, Neal could only give him his best grin – albeit one marred by the blood and grit smeared down his face. "Long story."

_You have no idea._

It was weeks after the Keller incident, and though it was over it was far from forgotten. Matthew might have gone to prison in his stead – something Neal could 100% get behind – but things were by no means the same as before. He could see it in Jones and Diana's faces, feel it in the way Peter watched him. A line had been crossed and it would be hard to find their way back.

But day after day, case by case, they were trying.

"Alex."

He flinched imperceptibly, head jerking up with a start as the file was landed unceremoniously in front of him. Diana snorted, hiding a laugh while Peter carried on obliviously. "Alex Thompson. Your latest alias. Late twenties, you were a Harvard hotshot and graduated top of your class before..."

Peter continued and Neal relaxed. The case. Simple bank fraud. Another life and another name, this one just as meaningless and transient as every other. They would close the case and forget the name, just as he had been trying to do for the last ten years and more.

"Neal? Are you with us?"

Unable to keep from tracing the familiar letters with one hand, Neal let out a chuckle. "Trust me. I've got this."


End file.
